


Ballet (Mis)Steps

by HollyeLeigh



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Captain Swan Secret Valentine, Dancing, F/M, Light Angst, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-17 17:10:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13663542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyeLeigh/pseuds/HollyeLeigh
Summary: CS Modern AU: Killian Jones is a retired ballet dancer turned choreographer. Emma Swan is a retired ballet dancer turned journalist. What happens when he comes out of retirement and she is tasked with getting the coveted interview - twelve years after they parted ways...





	Ballet (Mis)Steps

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine’s Day @dragon-princess!! I’m so happy to finally reveal myself as you CS Secret Valentine. I hope you enjoy your gift! It was a pleasure writing it for you.
> 
> Candy hearts and kisses to @ilovemesomekillianjones for betaing this for me, and @kmomof4 and @winterbaby89 for being my cheerleaders! *mwah*

 

* * *

  
The rustling thud of the newspaper hitting her desk made Emma’s head snap up. Standing before her, with his arms crossed over his chest, was her brother and editor, David. He had his boss face on, but there was something else peeking around the corner of his expression. Something sly and conspiratorial. He wanted something.

“Did you see this?” David gestured at the front page of that morning’s paper. A mangled heap of what used to be a car was depicted below the headline, _Storybrooke Ballet Company: Is It Curtains For New Ballet’s Opening Night?_

Emma scanned the article. The totaled vehicle had apparently belonged to Storybrooke Ballet Company’s principal male dancer. He and his understudy were both injured in the accident which had occurred the night prior, after leaving their final dress rehearsal before opening night of the new ballet.

Which was tonight.

“What are they going to do without their leading man or his understudy?” Emma asked while still scanning the article for that answer, which David ended up supplying.

“The choreographer is going on in his place.”

David’s statement had Emma’s head snapping up once more, her mouth hung slack and her eyes widened as her brows shot up her forehead.

“What?! He’s going to-”

“Come out of retirement,” David finished. “And you’re going to be there to witness it.”

There it was. The reason for the sly glint in his eye.

“But that’s Anna’s beat. Why am I covering the ballet all of a sudden?”

“You know why, Emma.” David looked at her pointedly. “You two have a history together. I want you to get an interview with him after the performance.”

“Jones doesn’t do interviews.”

The last interview Killian Jones had ever given was on the day he’d announced his retirement. It had stunned the ballet world. Killian Jones was _the_ principal leading man, with talent that rivaled some of the greatest legends of modern ballet. His devastatingly handsome looks and charisma only added to the romanticism and sensuality a good leading man should possess, which made him a sensation in the dance world. Every choreographer wanted to work with him, every prima ballerina wanted to dance with him, and every chorus line member (male and female), and most patrons wanted to fuck him. He’d had it all, and then suddenly four years ago, he walked away.

He went completely off the grid for nearly a year only to reemerge at a small ballet company in London as their new choreographer. For the past three years he’d been making a name for himself in his new role, and had relocated back to the United States only five months ago to take over as resident choreographer for the Storybrooke Ballet Company. The place he’d first gotten his start more than a decade ago when he’d attended the ballet academy, then later earned a position within the company that sponsored it.

The same ballet academy Emma had trained at, which was where she’d met him.

Killian Jones.

The one that got away.

“There’s no harm in trying, Emma,” David urged. “At the very least I need you to go and review the debut. Maybe afterward you can go see him backstage and catch up on old times.”

Old times.

“Is this a firm assignment, or can I pass on it?”

“Emma,” David sighed as he sank down in the chair beside her desk. “Ever since Jones came back you’ve been avoiding seeing him again.” Emma opened her mouth to protest, but her brother wasn’t having it. “You forced me to move you off the ballet column. Said you’d quit unless I assigned it to someone else. Does he even know you’re here in Storybrooke?”

Emma shrugged in response, and looked away from her brother’s shrewd stare, suddenly finding the contents of her paper clip tray utterly fascinating.

“Look, Emma. I don’t know what happened between you two, and it's none of my business, as you’ve repeatedly told me over the years.” That managed to elicit a smirk from her. “But you do know him, and you’re our best chance of getting that coveted interview. So, yeah. This is a firm assignment,” he declared, rising to his feet and settling back into his _boss_ demeanor. “I expect your review to be uploaded tonight with a note informing me that an interview will follow. Got it?”

Emma gave a mock salute as she responded, “Got it, Chief.”

* * *

Emma took her seat and nodded a gesture of thanks to the usher as she settled in. A section on the orchestra level was always reserved for press on opening nights. Most of the time many of the seats remained vacant, ballet not being a big enough draw for most news outlets. Tonight, though, every seat was filled, and not just in the press area.

Emma wondered if opening night of the new ballet would have drawn the same crowd if Killian Jones was merely the choreographer, and not the principal dancer who was coming out of retirement after four years. How many people were attending simply to see if the _bad boy of ballet_ still had it after all this time away? Nervous tension churned in Emma’s gut. She didn’t know why she felt so worried on his behalf, but as the lights dimmed and the orchestra began to swell, Emma sat back and held her breath in anxious anticipation.

The opening scenes, which introduced the female lead and chorus of ballerinas, were magnificent. Everything was choreographed beautifully, and it was evident that each dancer was inspired by the steps and combinations as they infused each graceful movement with a bounty of emotion that was shared by the audience.

When he made his entrance, the orchestra held out an unwritten fermata as the audience cheered, many of them standing as they applauded. Emma caught a glimpse of the smirk he tried to suppress, and rolled her eyes. _Still a smug bastard_ , she chuckled to herself, but all amusement quickly fell away once he began to move.

Anyone who might have thought Killian Jones had lost his edge in retirement was proven very much wrong during his opening sequence. The power in his jumps, the soaring height in his leaps, and the effortless way he lifted his partner and carried her across the stage were just as Emma remembered. Better even.

Emma attempted to remain objective and focused as she watched and studied the piece being performed before her, but the god-like man commanding the stage in nothing more than a pair of tights and sizable dance belt wasn’t doing her any favors. Her gaze lingered over the flex of his back muscles, biceps, forearms, and thighs. She bit her lip to suppress a knowing giggle over the lack of manscaping displayed across his chest. Killian never was one to toe the line on that particular expectation, and rumor had it he’d negotiated a _chest hair protection_ clause in his contracts.

After getting her fill (or a small fix, anyway) of blatant appreciation of his physique, Emma turned her attentions back to his execution of the steps he himself had crafted into a grand romantic dance between two lovers. Watching Killian confidently lead his partner over the expanse of the stage, the focused way he set all of his attentions on her and their moment together, reminded Emma of a time when she had been his focal point.

She was reminded of how his strong hands used to effortlessly lift her into the air, his muscular arms wrapped around her, making her feel so secure, so safe. Sweat and breath mingling as their bodies moved in intimate rhythm across the stage in front of a voyeuristic assembly. Dancing with Killian had been one of the most exhilaratingly sensual experiences of her life, and his assertions of how amazing they could be if they traded the stage for a bed and their costumes for nothing but skin had proven themselves accurate, a number of times.

Emma flushed at her memories and occupied her mind with note taking. She managed to rein in her libido’s nostalgia, and by the time the ballet concluded she felt much more poised and professional. A swarm of credential wearing locusts hovered by the auditorium stage door, all clamouring for the man of the hour. The stern looking stage manager announced that no one would be permitted backstage until the performers had a chance to cool down, and even then there were no guarantees that anyone other than invited guests would be welcomed.

Knowing that cool downs weren’t something dancers tended to rush through, Emma went back to her seat, pulled her computer from her bag, propped it onto her lap, and began writing her well-earned, rave review. Several others filled the time working as well, while a few simply milled about waiting to see if they’d be given access to Jones.

Emma had just uploaded her completed piece when the stage manager returned and informed the group that Killian Jones would not be available for comments or questions, nor would any of the other performers. Friends and family only would be allowed backstage, but the producer had agreed to field a few questions out in the lobby.

Emma worried her lip as the contingent of reporters made their way out of the auditorium, and considered the words the stage manager had used. _Friends and family only._ She had an out. David really wanted that interview, but he’d understand blocked access to the subject. After all, she hadn’t seen Killian in over ten years, they weren’t friends, not really. That rationalization didn’t stop her teeth from digging into her lip, though.

Twelve years.

It seemed like yesterday.

Twelve years ago, on that very stage, all the members of the company and the best students in the academy had performed, as they did every year, in a showcase that allowed them to be seen by the best dance companies in the world. It was the time when contracts within the company were offered or renewed, positions were auditioned for, and new opportunities within the ballet world opened themselves up to an eager chorus.

She and Killian had danced together in the featured piece of the showcase. It was a coveted role that she’d beat out dozens of other girls for, all vying for the chance to dance with the hot, straight male company member, as much as to be seen on such a large and important stage. It was during the rehearsal weeks that she and Killian had gotten together; a whirlwind of desire and passion, intimacies that went beyond sex as they shared pieces of themselves in the afterglow and the quiet moments in between. Emma hadn’t intended to fall so hard or so fast for Killian, but the impact of that reality had sent a shockwave straight through her. The force of which was nothing compared to the fallout.

Their performance had earned them rave reviews, and though she hadn’t been eligible to consider offers at that time, due to the terms of her scholarship, companies practically fell over themselves to woo Killian. The best had come from a prestigious company overseas who wanted Killian as their principal dancer, the face of their next tour across Europe. It was the kind of offer most dancers only ever dreamed of, and yet Killian had dragged his feet in accepting, spouting off nonsense about considering all the options before him.

Though he hadn’t said as much, Emma worried that his hesitancy had to do with her, and as much as she didn’t want to see him go, she knew neither of them would be able to forgive themselves if he passed up the opportunity.

So, she’d told him to go. Insisted that he go.

With promises to write and keep in touch, he’d set off for Paris to begin his career, and though he’d remained true to his word, it was Emma who’d let their relationship fall by the wayside when a year later she was offered a position with a company in California.

He’d made attempts to contact her through the years, but she’d never responded. Then four years ago, all efforts had stopped. Now he was there, on the other side of a stage door that she could easily gain access through. The stage manager might be a force to be reckoned with, but Emma had an in with the company’s Executive Assistant, who Emma knew was always backstage during Opening Nights.

Mind made up, Emma pulled out her phone and dialed.

“Hey, Ruby? I need a favor.”

* * *

 

Backstage was exactly as Emma remembered it. The same grey walls, the same notices and reminders on the walls, and the same musty bouquet of perspiration soaked costumes, industrial strength hairspray, and nerves.

Nerves that were coursing through Emma as she paced the corridor, waiting for Ruby to return with the answer of whether or not Killian would see her. An answer that came as he rushed around the corner and stopped short when he spotted her. He looked as stunned as she felt, her barely audible _hi_ hanging between them as twelve years melted away.

“Swan,” he said on an exhale.

A wide grin broke across his face and his deep throaty chuckle rumbled through his chest as he made his way to her with purposeful strides. His hands caught her under her arms, lifting her effortlessly off the ground as he spun her around once before setting her down and gathering her into his strong arms.

“It’s so good to see you,” he murmured into her hair.

“You, too,” she replied, wrapping her arms around his waist and settling her head in the space between his chest and shoulder as he squeezed her tightly.

Killian pulled back slightly and cupped her face in his hands, staring at her with disbelieving eyes.

“What are you doing here? In Storybrooke?”

“I live here,” she confessed, and allowed him a moment to reconcile his shock before pulling out her credentials and holding them up. “I’m here reviewing the ballet.”

“You’re press?” Killian questioned, brows furrowed in confusion. “You're not dancing anymore? What happened to California?”

Emma’s answer died on her lips as a man came barreling down the hallway, firmly calling out to her.

“I’m sorry Miss, but Mr. Jones is not available for-”

“It’s alright, Robin,” Killian dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Miss Swan is here because she’s an old friend. Everything off the record. Right, Swan?”

“Right,” she affirmed, stepping out of Killian’s embrace in the presence of a stranger.

“Emma, this is my manager, Robin Locksley. Robin, this is Emma Swan, former SBA student, and one of my oldest and dearest friends.”

Emma felt a rush of heat spread through her chest, up her neck, and tingle across her cheeks at his words, the sincerity behind them evident in his gaze.

“Oh!” Robin responded in surprise. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Swan.”

Emma took his proffered hand. “And you, Mr. Locksley.”

“Robin,” he corrected jovially, and Emma echoed the sentiment before Killian cleared his throat.

“Right, well. I imagine the two of you have some catching up to do, so I’ll just…” Robin awkwardly gestured over his shoulder and turned to head back down the hallway, shooting wide-eyed glances back at Killian every few steps.

“You’ll have to excuse Robin.” That tell of scratching behind his ear when he was nervous was still there. “He’s a bit overprotective of my _no interviews_ policy.”

“Yeah,” she drawled uncomfortably. “About that.”

Killian’s face fell before he could school his features, he crossed his arms defensively over his chest and took a step away from her. “Is that why you’re here? I know your brother’s an editor of one of the city’s papers. Did he send you?”

Emma fixed her gaze at the floor, too ashamed to look him in the eye.

“How long?” Killian questioned, and Emma raised her head, brows furrowed in confusion.

“How long what?”

“How long have you been here, Swan? In Storybrooke?” She didn't reply right away, too occupied with the chipping polish of her nails, which she knew would be a dead give away to the fact she'd been there longer than him. “Emma, why didn’t you let me know? Reach out? Come see me? Call?”

“Killian, I…” her words died on her tongue as she realized she really didn’t have a good reason. Other than being a complete coward.

“Eleven years, Swan!” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, jaw ticking and hurt swimming in his eyes as thoughts and questions she knew he’d suppressed for far too long came pouring out. “What happened? Everything was fine that first year, and then you went to California and… nothing. Do you know how it felt to have my phone calls go unanswered, to wonder if you’d even received my postcards? To look for you on every social media site imaginable, only to find your privacy settings set up like Fort Knox, and my requests to be a part of your life left ignored? What did I do, Emma?”

She heard his voice catch on that last question, and her already prickling eyes throbbed painfully at the unspent tears she refused to shed. This was a mistake. She shouldn’t have come. She didn’t blame him one bit for being angry with her. Hell, _she_ was angry at herself.

Before Emma could simply make some excuse and leave, Killian released a deep sigh and surprised her.

“Let’s get out of here.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to do this, Emma,” he admitted softly. “I don’t want… It doesn’t matter why you never responded. You’re here now. That’s all that matters to me, so let’s get out of here. We’ll go to the cafe around the corner and I’ll buy you a hot cocoa, complete with whipped cream and cinnamon.” His brows did that ridiculous thing they’d always done, but his smirk was a little less smug.

Emma analyzed the hopeful expression on his usually cocky face. _What the hell am I getting myself into?_ No longer concerned with the interview right then, she realized maybe she owed him this. Maybe she needed to answer his questions. Maybe it was time for her to be accountable for her actions where Killian Jones was concerned.  

“Okay.”

* * *

_Their corner_ had been empty when they arrived, and Killian suggested she go claim it while he placed their order. They now sat in companionable silence enjoying their beverages, though Killian did offer a side eye a time or twice at the bear claw she’d asked him to get for her.

“I don’t see how you can eat those things, Swan,” he commented with a tone of distaste.

“I no longer have to watch my weight,” she contended, taking another bite of the delicious sugar covered heaven. “Tell me you didn’t have some kind of guilty pleasure while you were retired.”

“My retirement only just ended,” he reminded her.

“Well, I don’t plan to make a comeback like you just did, so allow me my bear claw in peace would ya?”

He chuckled at her as she shoved the remainder of the pastry in her mouth, then quickly took another sip of his coffee as she sucked the remnants of its sugary glaze from her fingers. She hadn’t meant to be provocative, but there was no denying the distinct sizzle that clung to the air between them. She swallowed down the bearclaw and licked her lips nervously, an action he followed with the flicker of his eyes, then found herself blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

“Why did you stop dancing?”

His eyes snapped back up to meet hers, he set his coffee cup down on the table, leaned back in his chair, and tilted his head to one side in challenge.

“Why did you?”

Emma rolled her eyes and scoffed, “What? Are we going to play _I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours_ now?” Too late to take the words back, she internally groaned at the response she knew was about to fall from his lips. He didn’t disappoint.

“I’ll happily show you mine anytime you’d like, love.”

“I’m serious, Killian.”

“So am I,” he replied salaciously.

Emma continued to glare at him until he finally shifted in his seat. He ran a hand over his mouth and scratched at the scruff along his jawline and chin, nervous tension rolling over him. Whatever it was he was holding back made Emma’s heart constrict in her chest and she decided that, for once, she’d be the brave one. She owed it to him, after all.

Emma pulled her wallet out of her bag, opened it, and took a photo out of one of the inside pockets. Sliding it along the table towards him she said, “This is why I stopped dancing.”

Killian’s eyes widened as comprehension of the photo hit him. “You’ve a son?”

Emma noticed the quick flicker he gave to her left hand, but pretended otherwise. “His name is Henry. He’s three and a half.”

“And his father?” Killian asked delicately.

“Not in the picture,” she supplied. Killian’s focus remained intent, and he gave her an encouraging nod when she didn’t elaborate further. Emma took a long sip of her hot cocoa, swallowed hard, and began her tale.

“His name’s Neal. I met him a few years after moving to California, when I got a principal position at the company. He managed a few of the other dancers, and I hired him to be mine, too. We started seeing each other about a year after that. Not very professional, I know, but…” she trailed off, thinking for the thousandth time about all the red flags, all the signs she’d chosen to ignore. “He swindled me. I didn’t realize I was pregnant until after he was long gone… with my entire life savings.”

“What an utter bastard,” Killian spat. “I’m so sorry, Swan.”

“Yeah, well.” Emma shrugged and took another sip of her cocoa. Killian turned his focus back to the photo in his hand, and a soft smile ghosted over his lips, tugging at her heart. “I couldn’t go through with an abortion, so I packed up my life, moved back to Storybrooke, and crashed with David and Mary Margaret. That was a little over four years ago.”

Killian shook his head, then leaned forward and grabbed her hand. “You deserve better than that, Emma. Wherever this Neal character is now I hope he’s getting exactly what he deserves, because it sure as hell isn’t you, or your lad. I wish… I wish I could have been there for you.”

Emma’s cheeks flushed at the vehemence in his voice. She pushed aside both the warm feeling of affection, and churning guilt his words had conjured, and continued to fill in the gaps of the last four years.

“It’s fine. I had David and Mary Margaret. They helped me all during the pregnancy and with Henry, after his birth. David gave me a part time job at the paper, and I went to school part time for journalism.”

“And where is your lad while you’re out having a drink with a devilishly handsome ballet star?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “We’re still crashing with the Nolans, so he’s home with my brother and sister-in-law.”

“That sounds a bit cramped.”

“It is. I really need to get my own place, but it's been hard to find the time or the right location.” Emma took the photo of her son back from Killian, stored it back into her wallet, and then fixed a pointed look at him. “So, that’s my tragic backstory, Jones. Let’s hear yours.”

Killian let out an amused breath and hitched a brow. “Interesting choice of words,” he muttered.

“What do you mean? What happened?”

Killian stared down at his hand, clenching and unclenching it, and his Adam’s apple bobbed before he released a stuttered breath.

“Liam died.”

Emma’s heart fell into her stomach and she shut her eyes against her own careless words. _Tragic backstory, indeed. Way to go, Emma._

“Oh, Killian. I’m so, so sorry. When? What happened?”

“Four years ago. And I’ve no bloody clue,” he bit out. “The Navy wasn’t exactly forthcoming with the details… or his body.” It was Emma’s turn to reach out and take his hand. “Needless to say, I didn’t handle the news well. I started drinking, and it quickly got out of control. I started to lose my edge, became difficult to work with, and finally the company had no choice but to fire me.”

“They fired you?!” Emma exclaimed in a whispered yell.

“That they did, but Robin was able to work with them and spin it.”

“Let me guess,” Emma interjected. “Into a retirement announcement?”

“It was better than letting the entire ballet world know I’d hit rock bottom before thirty.” Emma knew that Killian’s jovial facade was just that - a facade. A mask of sarcasm and unaffectedness to hide the self-loathing pain he blamed himself for. “Robin was able to discreetly get me into rehab, where I spent about nine months getting clean… and hiding, if I’m being honest.”

“Killian-”

“It’s alright, Swan. You don’t have to say anything.” He glanced up at her through his lashes, hedging a bit as he added, “I tried to contact you when they notified me about Liam. I suppose now I know why I couldn’t find you.”

“I wish I’d known. I wish I could have been there for you, Killian.”

“In a way, it was probably best that you weren’t,” he commented, then hurried to clarify his meaning when he saw a pained expression cross her face. “No. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just… I had to find my own path after rehab. I couldn’t go back to dancing, but I couldn’t _not_ be a part of it in some way. I’m really proud of what I’ve been able to accomplish these past three years as a choreographer.”

Emma could see that every bit of what he’d said was true, but she also knew he was holding back. “Admit it, though… you missed nights like tonight. Center stage. All eyes on you. The lights, the audience eating out of the palm of your hand. You don’t need me to tell you how amazing you were tonight.”

“Amazing, huh? Swan, you flatter me,” he replied with a ridiculous amount of false modesty, and Emma couldn’t help but giggle at him. “You’re right, though. I did miss it. Being out there tonight was like coming home. And seeing you again has made it almost perfect.”

“Almost? Why almost?”

“Because every time I’ve imagined seeing you again it’s always been in a more private setting, with fewer clothes between us.”

Emma smacked his shoulder in response to his swaggering brows and salaciously bit lip, joining in his laughter. He needn’t know about the steamy images that flashed through her mind, making her hot and tingly at the prospect of taking him home and making the night truly perfect. Not that she could. Take him home with her, that is. Not with her brother, sister-in-law, and son there.

_I really need my own place._

Killian walked her back to the theatre, taking her hands in his when they reached her car.

“David isn’t going to be too upset about the interview, is he?” he asked with a measure of concern.

“He’ll get over it,” Emma reassured. “It’s not like you gave one to somebody else.”

Killian took a step forward, pressing into her space and offered in a low tone, “Tell you what, Swan. How about you agree to have dinner with me, and I’ll give you that interview.”

Emma wet her lips and raised her brows at him, “I’d have dinner with you anyway, Jones.”

Killian flashed her an elated grin before releasing her hands so he could cup her cheek and bring her mouth up to his. Emma wrapped her arms around his neck, scraping her nails along his hairline as their lips reacquainted themselves with one another. Teasing and nipping before the hot slide of their tongues moved together as if no time had passed since they’d last shared this particular dance.

Killian’s hands moved to her hips and he pulled her flush against him, groaning into her mouth when she buried her hand further in his hair.

“Gods, I’ve missed you, Swan,” Killian breathed against her jaw as his lips made their way towards her neck. “There wasn’t a day that went by I didn’t think of you.”

“Good,” she sighed, only vaguely aware that he now had her pressed against her car door.

Lips and hands became a frenzy, seeking out whatever bits of skin they could lay claim to while still being mindful of their somewhat public setting. The parking lot might be empty, but there were still cars passing by on the main road beside them. A fact they were reminded of when the whistles and catcalls of passengers in a vehicle stopped at a red light startled them apart.

They both chuckled in embarrassment, Killian waving the hecklers off as the light turned green and the car sped off.

“You mentioned something about dinner?” Emma reminded him when it looked like he might move back in for another round, not that she would have minded, but it _was_ getting late.

“Aye. And an interview” he replied.

“Killian, you don’t have to-”

He stopped her words when he pressed his fingers against her lips. “I want to, Swan. It’s time to stop running from it, and there’s no one I trust more than you to help me tell the story.” Emma’s breath caught in her chest leaving her incapable of responding. “Come tomorrow night. After the performance we’ll sit down for the interview, and afterward I’ll take you out for a _very_ late meal. Play your cards right, and I might even throw breakfast in bed the next morning into the deal.”

“It’s a good thing you’re a good dancer,” Emma scoffed, pushing him back so she had room to open her car door.

With brows furrowed in confusion, Killian asked, “Why’s that, love?”

She climbed in and settled herself behind the wheel before answering. “Because you suck at negotiating. An interview and breakfast in bed, when all you get is a meal you have to pay for? I’m definitely getting the better end of that bargain.”

The stunned looked on his face as she started the car and drove off was positively priceless.

 

* * *

 

One of the perks of being a formar SBA student, and having an in with the Executive Assistant of the company, was that Emma had access to studio time most mornings. She might have given up dancing professionally when she’d decided to keep Henry, but that didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy dancing for herself still.

The down side to the generosity of coveted, private studio time, was that she had to use it at an ungodly time in the morning. Something that had worked in her favor when for the last five months she’d been avoiding running into Killian. This morning, however, the early hour after her late night cocoa and bearclaw with Jones wasn’t doing her any favors.

Suppressing a yawn for the dozenth time, Emma finished her warm up and cued up her playlist to the song she’d been reminiscing over since she watched Killian take the stage the night before. The song they had performed to for their last dance routine together, the night of the showcase. She knew she’d never get it out of her mind if she didn’t just perform it, the solo part anyway, so she pressed play, hit her mark, and imagined that she was back on the SBC stage.

Not every step was executed to perfection. She’d lost some height in her jumps, and her center of gravity had shifted a bit thanks to pregnancy and childbirth, but Emma wasn’t focused on any of that. Instead she let the music and the steps help her connect with the emotion of the piece and longing of the character portrayed within the scene. A fiery maiden who had rebuffed the man she secretly loved time and again because she was too afraid to risk such passions. When word reached her that her love, a sailor, had gone down with his ship in a storm, the maiden danced along the shoreline grieving the fact she’d never told him how she felt. Her mournful solo ends with her lover surprising her with his miraculous return, and the two share a dance of love, passion, and desire.

Emma finished out the solo, poised in her final placement, when she felt strong hands wrap around her waist and lift her into the first position of the pas de deux. She let out a tiny gasp, but years of training and muscle memory allowed her to hold her form as her partner swept her off her feet and into the air.

When he set her back down, Emma spun around to face her dance mate, though she’d known it was Killian from the moment he’d placed his hands on her.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, good morning to you too, Swan,” he teased, rocking back onto his heels while looking over her red leotard and black tights with an appreciative eye.

“You’re never here this early.”

“And I gather that you are? Dancing in one of the Academy’s studios right under my nose all this time?” Emma’s cheeks flamed. She was about to utter another apology for not telling him sooner that they were both back in Storybrooke when he closed the space between them. “You still have the most exquisite extensions, Swan. Watching you dance our piece makes me want to take you in my arms and relive the moment. Shall we?”

“You remember the dance?” she asked incredulously as he cued the music back to the beginning of the pas de deux section.

“I could never forget it,” he replied as he took his position behind her, ready to begin where they’d left off. “It was the last time we performed together.”

The lover’s dance started off romantic, an emotional reunion with declarations of love and promises of forever. Sweeping lifts and reverent combinations of holds and releases that began on the side of chaste, but then shifted to passionate embraces and seductive movements. The sensuality of the dance heightened as Emma and Killian moved their bodies together with little concern over proper form. Soft brushes of fingertips down the other’s arms and over collarbones, scorching caresses of his palm against her thigh as he delayed releasing her in the transitions. Lingering looks into one another’s eyes instead of setting their spot in the turns, a brush of lips against a neck, a wandering hand that didn’t quite meet its appropriate mark.

As the dance came to a close their labored breathing was from more than their strenuous activities. The flush of their skin a product of desire as much as exertion. Their final pose had Emma draped over Killian’s arm as he dipped her back, his head resting against her chest. A heartbeat after the song ended, Emma felt Killian’s nose skim along the open expanse of skin at her neckline. The caresses turned into hot, open mouth kisses as he pulled her back up into his arms, continuing a scorching trail up her neck before laying claim to her mouth.

He brought his hands up to the top of her leotard and pulled the garment over her shoulders and down her arms.

“Killian,” Emma moaned with a hint of protest.

His hand slipped beneath the fabric and cupped her breast, kneading it in his palm as he hummed appreciatively, “I don’t remember these being quite so ample.”

“The wonder of childbearing.” She nipped against his lips pulling a groan from him.

“I want to tear this leotard from your body,” he growled, mimicking her action against his lips on her earlobe, “bend you over right here in front of all the mirrors so you can watch as I take you. Make you hold on to the barre for support as I drive myself into you over and over again.”

“You seem to have given this some thought,” she replied breathlessly, a wash of eager expectancy flooding her body.  

"You’ve no idea,” he murmured into her skin while running his hands down her back to her thighs, ready to lift her into his arms.

She reached back and grabbed hold of his wrists. “We can’t. Not here.”

Unwilling to relent just yet, Killian moved his lips back to hers. The scorching slant of his mouth and the sensation of his tongue savoring hers made her dizzy.

“Then come back to my place,” he rasped. His hands no longer at her backside, he tucked one into her hair while the other splayed itself across the open back of her leotard.

“I can’t,” she lamented. “I have to get to work.”

Killian pulled away from her lips with a heavy sigh and rested his forehead against hers. “Aye. I know,” he conceded.

Emma pulled her leotard back over her shoulders and stepped back from temptation. She felt the fire of his gaze as she collected her things, but he’d managed to rein himself in when she came to stand before him again.

“Will I see you tonight?” Killian asked, his voice still husky from the desire she could see clouding his eyes.

“Of course, you owe me an interview, remember?” she teased, then a consideration dawned on her. “Unless you’re having second thoughts. Which would be fine, I haven’t told David that you agreed to give one. I’m happy to just have dinner with you, so please don’t feel obliga-”

Killian halted her ramblings with his lips and she couldn’t help but sigh and melt into him once more.

“Tell David about the interview, Swan,” he said after a few gentle kisses.

“You’re sure?”

“Aye, love. I’ll see you tonight.”

* * *

 

Work was pointless. There was zero chance of Emma being able to focus on the blinking cursor before her. Thoughts of strong hands and warm lips drove her to distraction as her body shivered at the recollection of everything he’d said he wanted to do to her in the studio. In front of the mirrors. Against the barre.

“Did Jones give it to you?”

Emma startled at her brother’s question. Blazing heat painted her cheeks even as she felt like she’d been doused with a cold bucket of water at his presence.

“W-what?” she stammered.

“The interview? Did you get the interview?”

“Oh! Uh… tonight,” she confirmed. “He asked me to come back tonight for it.”

“Tonight? I thought maybe you’d gotten it last night given how late it was before you got home.”

Emma knew from experience that her paper clip tray was _not_ that interesting, yet David was inspecting it as if he expected to find hidden gems.

“Were you waiting up for me, _dad_?”

“No,” he answered a bit too quickly, causing Emma to cock her head and shoot a brow at him. “Alright, fine,” he sighed. “I guess I felt a little guilty for forcing you to go face him. I don’t know why you shut him out when you went to California, and if I find out he hurt you I’ll effectively end his career by taking out his knee caps, but I do know that having him so close and not reaching out to him was eating you up.”

“It wasn’t Killian,” she confessed. “It was all me.”

David sank down into the chair next her desk and placed a supportive hand on her knee.

“What happened, Emma?”

The question rang in Emma’s head. The same question Killian had posed to her the night before. A question she hadn’t had the courage to answer then, but one she knew she’d have to answer eventually. Maybe giving the truth a trial run with her brother would make it easier to confess to Killian later. Emma glanced around at the buzzing newsroom, then back at her brother.

“Your office?”

David nodded his understanding and the two made their way to the more private setting. With the door closed behind them, coffee poured and doctored to their liking, and both of them settled on the sofa, Emma gathered her resolve, then poured out her heart to her brother.

“When we were here all those years ago I had started to feel like maybe I was something special. I was at the top of the class at the academy, I’d earned that role at the showcase, and Killian… Killian made me feel like I was more than some little lost girl her parents hadn’t wanted.” David reached over and took her hand, but remained silent as she continued. “When he got the offer to go overseas, I told him to take it. I actually believed that when my time came to field offers the next year, the same company would want me too and we’d be together again.”

“But they didn’t offer you a position,” David commented.

“They didn’t even come to the showcase,” Emma stated bitterly. “All I got were chorus offers. Killian was the sensation of Europe, and I couldn’t even muster a principal position from the company I’d studied under. Not that I begrudged him that,” she rushed to add. “He absolutely deserved the success. It just…”

“Made you feel like you didn’t deserve him,” David said knowingly. Emma let a few silent tears slip down her cheeks and David wrapped his arms around her. “Oh, Emma. Killian didn’t love you because of your talent. He loved you for the same reason Mary Margaret and I do. The same reason Mom loved you and took you in. Because you are Emma. And that’s enough.”

Emma sniffled into David’s shoulder. “You think he loved me back then?”

“I think he loves you now,” David professed. “Or at least, he’d like the chance to fall in love with you again.”

Emma could practically hear David’s mind weighing a decision of whether or not to share some withheld piece of information. “Just tell me,” she prompted.

“When he first came back, he called me. Wanted to know where you were, how you were. I told him that if you hadn’t seen fit to let him know yourself, then it wasn’t my place to share. He wasn’t too happy with that response, but he respected it and didn’t push the issue again. Until the night before last.”

Emma jerked back out of her brother’s embrace and stared at him. “The night before last?” she asked with a hint of accusation.

“He called me after it had been decided he’d come out of retirement. He knew the press would be clamouring for an interview and he offered to give our paper an exclusive if I’d just give him your number, or an e-mail, or an address. I told him I’d have to think about it.”

“And then you assigned me the opening night review and told me to get the interview?!” she exclaimed as she shot to her feet. “David!”

“I know! I’m sorry Emma, but the guy sounded desperate, and… well, your avoidance was getting a little bit ridiculous, even for you.”

David may as well have slapped her, the force of his words having a similar impact to her insides. It didn’t keep her from throwing his own dishonesty right back at him. “So sending me to the ballet last night was about me facing Killian and _not_ so you’d get your precious interview?”

“Maybe a little of both,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Well, you can forget about the interview! I’m not going to ask him for it now. I don’t want him to think it’s the only reason I showed up, or that he owes it to you because I did.”

David let out a resigned sigh. “Alright, Emma. I won’t ask you to go through with it.”

Without another word on the subject, Emma stormed out of David’s office. She spent the rest of the day stewing at her desk, knowing she needed to tell Killian the interview was off, but unwilling to do it over the phone while she was at work. She was still too angry at David to be professional or objective. After work posed its own set of inconveniences as he’d be warming up getting ready for the performance, and she had no desire to distract him before he went on stage. Emma resigned herself to just wait until after the ballet when they’d already planned to meet for the interview anyway. She just hoped he’d believe her when she told him her reasons for refusing.

* * *

 

Emma chewed nervously at her thumb, the nail no longer substantial enough to handle her anxiety. The ballet had concluded thirty minutes ago, and when the stage manager had emerged with the obligatory _not until the dancers cool down_ notice, Emma had slipped the woman her card asking her to deliver it to Mr. Jones’ manager. Now she was pacing the auditorium with a few other members of the press waiting to be called back.

The stage door opened and all eyes turned to the man revealed behind it. Robin’s eyes landed on her and with a nod of his head she made her way towards the door. As she hit the threshold the entire press corp behind her erupted.

“He’s waiting for you in his dressing room,” Robin whispered into her ear. “Go ahead. I’ll fight off the vultures.”

She gave him a quick smile of gratitude, and turned down the hallway. Once she reached Killian’s door, Emma took a steadying breath and reached up to knock. Before her knuckles could rap against the wood, the door swung open. Killian’s hand caught her wrist and he pulled her inside. Before she knew it he had the door closed, locked, and her pressed up against it.

“Killian!” she exclaimed before his mouth crashed down onto hers, hungrily seeking her lips. His tongue and teeth teased her bottom lip before moving attention to her jawline, nipping and laving a path along the side of her neck towards the back of her ear.

“Relax, Swan,” he murmured into her skin. “‘You’ll get your interview. Right now I’m more interested in giving you something else.” He rolled his hips into hers, and Emma had to stifle the moan that threatened to break free from her lips. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about this all day.” His hands ran down the sides of her body and she couldn’t help but arch into him when one of his thumbs grazed her nipple, now erect and evident through her blouse. His other hand traveled further down, finding its way under her skirt and Emma drew in a sharp breath when his fingers made contact with the pooling warmth at her center. “There’s no use denying it, love. I can feel that you have.”

His smug growl caused a shiver to run the length of her body and he chuckled into her neck as he continued to lavish hot open mouthed kisses down its expanse.

_Screw it. We’ll talk later._

“Fine,” she conceded, and brought her hand up to pull the hair at the back of his head, forcing him to break away from her neck. “But we aren’t doing this against the door. You’ve danced on those legs for two and a half hours. I’m not going to risk them giving out and you injuring yourself, or me ending up on my ass.”

A devilish grin answered back. “Fair point, love. How would you like me then? This is your interview after all.”

Emma pushed against his chest and backed him up towards the sofa on the opposite end of the room, pulling at his clothes and assisting him with removing hers along the way. When his calves hit the front of the cushions she shoved him down and straddled his lap, each of them down to only their undergarments.

“Forget the interview, Jones. I’m no longer interested,” she murmured against his lips.

Killian pulled back. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not here because you promised David an interview in exchange for my whereabouts.” She cupped his cheeks in response to the panicked look that flashed in his eyes. “I came here last night because I wanted to see you, and I came back tonight because I want to be with you. No strings. No conditions.”

“He told you about that, did he?” Killian reached up to scratch behind his ear. “For what it's worth Swan, I know you didn’t come last night because of that, or at least… I’d hoped you hadn’t.”

“I meant what I said. I came for you.”

Killian smirked and quirked a brow. One day Emma was going to learn how to not set him up for innuendos… maybe.

“Not quite yet, but we can still rectify that if you’d like.”

Emma bent down and pressed her lips to his, wiping the smug expression off his face. Killian groaned when she rolled her hips as she slid her tongue inside his mouth, and responded by bucking his hips up to meet hers. He brought his hand around to her back and unclasped her bra in one swift motion. _Nice to know he hasn’t lost that skill either._

Despite the heat rolling off his body, and the scorching trail his mouth and tongue left as they traveled down her neck and chest, Emma shivered in his arms. A moan fell from her lips when his latched on to her breast, and she raked her nails through his hair as she arched into him. More tremors worked their way through her body, settling at her core which was already slick and wanting through her underwear as she rolled against his hardened length.

Killian’s breaths became shallow and panting. He leaned against the back of the couch, tipping his head back and exposing the enticing expanse of his throat. Emma couldn’t help but sink her teeth into the side of his neck, laving and sucking a possessive path from the straining cords down to the hollow of his throat.

“No marks,” he panted.

“What do you think stage makeup is for,” she countered.

With a growl he moved his hands to the backs of her thighs, and lifted her quickly only to lay her on her back against the couch cushions. She reached for him expecting him to crawl back on top of her, but he had other ideas. She flushed under the tender scrutiny of his gaze and trembled as his fingertips mapped the lines of her body until they reached her panties. He paused, questioning with his eyes, and she nodded.

Slowly. Painfully slow. Agonizingly slow. He knelt down and removed her underwear, leaving soft brushes of his lips in their wake. Once he had them completely off he stood and removed his own, and Emma didn’t give a damn that she was absolutely staring. Or that he caught her staring, though, astonishingly, he didn’t have some cocky response to offer.

Guess he thought his actual cock was response enough.

It absolutely was.

Killian fished a condom out of his wallet, rolled it on, and settled himself between her welcoming thighs.

“You don’t know how I’ve longed for this, Emma. How I’ve longed for you,” he murmured against her lips.

“Maybe I do.”

Killian poured twelve years of want into his kiss before releasing her lips. When he entered her they both groaned in satisfaction, and the rhythm he set was as natural as any they had danced together. Given his dirty declarations at the studio and the frenzied way he had pulled her into the room that evening, Emma had expected something hot and quick with blush inducing utterances purred into her ear. Instead their movements were languid, a simmering heat building between them with each thrust. His words were praises against her skin, and Emma recalled with a stuttered breath the supposition she’d heard earlier that day.

_I think he loves you now._

Emma opened her eyes to see his vivid blue gazing down at her, the proof shining there as brightly as any spotlight. She brought his head down to take his lips and wrapped her legs around his waist. He needed no further prompting and began snapping his hips to a new rhythm; one that had them both groaning with _yeses_ and _theres_ and _just like thats_ until one right after the other they spent themselves in the finale of their passions.

* * *

“I would have stayed, you know,” Killian murmured into her hair afterward. Both of them tangled around one another on the couch, enjoying the afterglow. “If you had asked me to, I would have stayed. Taken the principal position here at SBC and waited until you’d finished your training. I would have followed you to whichever company had offered you a position.”

“I know,” Emma admittedly softly. “That’s why I didn’t ask you to stay. You would have wasted your talents, Killian. You were always meant for greater things.”

“So were you, Swan,” he insisted. “All those companies were bloody fools to not recognize your talent the year of your showcase. You deserved more than chorus offers.”

“Maybe,” she replied with a half shrug, and Killian released a long suffering sigh.

“One of these days Swan, I am going to get you to believe just how much you _do_ deserve. There are still so many great things in store for you, if you’ll just let yourself have them.”

“And what about all the greatness that’s in store for you?” she inquired. Her fingertips continued their lazy pattern through his chest hair in the hopes it might distract him from her changing subjects. “I’m sure since you’ve officially come out of retirement, there are offers pouring in.”

“As a matter of fact there have been a fair few,” he admitted, “and I’ve already accepted one.”

“You what?” Emma braced herself on her elbow to face him, her heart slamming in her chest at the thought of him leaving. “What offer?”

“I accepted the principal position here, at SBC,” he answered, and cupped her cheek in response to her stunned expression. “It seems the injuries their former principal sustained in the car accident were career ending, so they offered me the position this morning, and I took it on the spot.”

“But why?” Emma shook her head, incapable of comprehending the news he’d just dropped on her. “Killian, you could go anywhere. Dance for the best companies, with the best choreographers. What possible reason could you have for staying here?”

It was Killian who now shook his head in perplexity. “Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you.” Emma’s mouth dropped open and tears pooled in her eyes. “You said I was always meant for greater things,” he reminded softly, brushing away one of her tears with the pad of his thumb. “Emma, there isn’t anything greater that I could ever hope for, than to have you in my life. I’m not making the same mistake again. You deserve better than that.”

They made love one more time that night. Promises of a future and new dreams and all the greatness that was in store for them both, whispered and vowed between them.

A year later, David finally got his interview. Killian and Emma both sat down with him after opening night of Storybrooke Ballet Company’s newest ballet, which they had both just performed in as principal dancers. His wasn’t the only interview given that evening, but he did get an exclusive; a photo of the ring and date to go along with it.

 


End file.
